


dal capo

by starlight_sugar



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Gen, Pre-Slash, very very very much pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_sugar/pseuds/starlight_sugar
Summary: “Angus's birthday is in a couple of weeks,” Kravitz says.Roswell nods wisely. “And you’ve still convinced yourself you don’t know anything about him?”





	dal capo

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the AUcember series, a self-made challenge where I try to write a new AU one-shot every day. You can read all of the AUcember fics in the collection linked above.
> 
> This one was actually written well over a year ago, and it was intended to be the opening scene of a much longer fic. That one is pretty much sidelined permanently, but I wanted to dig this up because I'm still happy with it.

Hurley arrives at the music office at 2:55 in the afternoon like clockwork. Kravitz knows it’s her even though she doesn’t knock - or maybe because she doesn’t knock. The door to his office opens, and he says half-distractedly, “Hello, Hurley.”

“Hey, Krav,” Hurley says, sounding amused.

“Hi, Uncle Kravitz,” Angus chirps, and that’s what gets Kravitz to turn around. Angus is already sitting in the armchair in Kravitz’s office, backpack resting neatly next to him. He’s not facing Kravitz, busy running his fingers along the bookshelf next to the chair.

“Hello, Angus,” Kravitz says, waits for Angus’s answering smile before he looks at Hurley. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me every time,” Hurley says gently, like she tries to do once every week. “I’m your neighbor, I’m doing you a favor.”

“A series of favors.”

“That you pay me back for.”

Kravitz would like to argue with that, but he can’t. He’s meticulous about paying Hurley back for every time she picks Angus up from school, whether that’s by watching the cats when she and Sloane are out of town or giving her gas money. And it’s a remarkably convenient arrangement: most days she can take Angus home, because she lives two houses down, and some days she can bring him to the university.

“Thank you anyways,” Kravitz says simply.

Hurley rolls her eyes, but she smiles at him before glancing at Angus. “See you tomorrow, kiddo.”

Angus turns and smiles right back at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Hurley,” he says, and pulls a book about music theory off of Kravitz’s shelf.

Hurley waves as she leaves, and Kravitz looks at Angus, trying to stave off that faltering feeling he gets sometimes when he looks at his nephew. “How was chess club?”

“I won,” Angus says, which is the least surprising thing Kravitz has ever heard.

“Against other students?”

“Against the principal.”

Kravitz whistles lowly. “Pretty good.”

“It was okay.” Angus ducks his head, burying his nose in the music theory book like he thinks it’ll prevent Kravitz from realizing how pleased he is. “I could’ve done better.”

“You did well to begin with. Did you want to come to rehearsal or stay in the office?”

“Can I bring this?”

“Did you want to read about-” Kravitz tips his head so he can see the cover of the book better. “Basic elements of jazz theory, or did you want to do homework?”

Angus is ten. Angus is also a junior in high school. Angus is also significantly more on top of his homework than Kravitz ever was, either at age ten or in high school. All this means that Kravitz is completely not surprised when Angus says, “All of my homework is done, except the things I need my textbook for.”

Kravitz wishes sorely that he had something he could say to make this conversation feel more natural, but it’s been a year and a half and he’s still not sure how to talk to Angus. Instead he says, “It’s your call. You can bring the book to rehearsal if you want. Or you could go to Roswell’s office and see if they’re here, but you’d have to come to rehearsal if they’re not.”

Angus frowns at that, visibly sifting through the options. “What are you playing today?”

“Bizet and Beethoven.”

“What Bizet?”

“Probably something from L’Arlesienne.”

Angus pauses, mouth turned down just far enough that Kravitz can tell he doesn’t remember which suite it is. “That’s not the same as Carmen?” he says hesitantly.

“No, it’s just music. Did you want to sit in?”

Predictably, Angus nods, eyes slowly lighting up. The kid is a sponge for any and all knowledge, and thankfully that includes music and music theory. It means that if nothing else Kravitz has something to talk about with him, even though there are only so many times he can discuss instrumentation in classical pieces with a child before he starts feeling out of his depth, parentally speaking.

Kravitz glances at the clock on his computer. “We should head down now. Any other books you want to bring with you?”

“Of course,” Angus says, and pulls a copy of  _ The Fight _ from his backpack. It’s a ratty paperback, and Kravitz has almost never seen Angus without it. He’d offered to get a newer copy at one point, if only so Angus has a copy that doesn’t have his notes and scribbles in it, but Angus had just given him a  _ look, _ a look that Kravitz receives often from children that says  _ really, come on, don’t you know better than that, _ and he’d never asked about the new copy again. But Angus clutches his paperback close to his chest as he gets to his feet, and only picks up the jazz theory book as an afterthought. “Do you even play jazz, Uncle Kravitz?”

“I’m an expert in jazz cello,” Kravitz answers, just to see the way Angus wrinkles his nose at him. “I tried jazz trumpet once.”

“Were you good at it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Angus trails after Kravitz as they leave the office, locking the door behind him. “Would you ever play it again?”

“The day I touch a trumpet is the day hell freezes over,” Kravitz says grimly.

“Would I be good at the trumpet?”

“If you practiced.”

“I’d rather be good at the trombone,” Angus decides. “Or the violin.”

“Two very different instruments there.”

“I bet any one of the faculty here would give me lessons,” Angus points out, which is… true, actually. The music department faculty all love Angus, and they probably know that he’s a dream student. Kravitz can imagine them falling over themselves to teach him how to play something. “And you can give me cello lessons.”

“And any one of the students would give you lessons.” Kravitz pushes open the door to the orchestra room. About half of his students are there, some milling around, most in their seats tuning. One of the basses sets his bow down to wave at Angus.

“I should play double-bass,” Angus decides, with a fervent kid-like finality. Kravitz absolutely does not have the heart to tell him that his hands are too small to play the bass well.

“Ask a student,” he says instead, stopping at the director’s podium. Angus trots over to a chair, already waiting for him in the corner of the room, and immediately opens up the jazz theory book. “Need anything?”

“Uncle Kravitz, you should start with the Beethoven,” Angus says without looking up.

They don’t need to practice the Beethoven. Most of these students could play the Beethoven in their sleep. The Bizet piece needs more rehearsal time that they don’t have to spare on the Beethoven.

They play the Beethoven first. Kravitz is nothing if not a sucker for his nephew.

#

Kravitz… is not good with kids.

And not in that charming way that adults often are, where they can entertain kids for a couple of hours but would be awful parents. No, Kravitz is bad with kids in the sense that he doesn’t understand their logic, at all. He can’t fathom temper tantrums, or being incapable of eating a sandwich with the crust on it, or any number of other things that kids do. He never wanted kids.

If he had to get a kid, he supposes Angus is the best-case scenario. He’s smart, mostly self-sufficient, doesn’t require explaining when Kravitz is busy. Also, the kid is damn funny, although Kravitz isn’t sure that Angus knows that himself. But he’s a good kid. A really good kid.

Kravitz doesn’t know what Angus’s life was like before The Accident, the capital-letter-worthy turning point in both of their lives. He’s thought about it before, what Angus must’ve felt when it happened. One day he was at home with a single mother, and the next he was being shuffled off to live with an uncle he hadn’t met, an uncle that didn’t even know he existed. Kravitz hadn’t been in touch with his sister in years, easily longer than Angus had been alive, but that didn’t change the way his stomach dropped when he got the call. And then couple that with the fact that, for some godforsaken reason, Lacey had picked him to be the guardian if she died.

It’s not a  _ bad _ situation, necessarily. Kravitz already had a two-bedroom apartment, and he’d moved all of his instruments out of the second bedroom, invested in things like a better cell phone plan and more comfortable furniture. And he loves his nephew, even though he has trouble understanding him. It’s not bad. It’s good, even. Kravitz just hopes Angus also thinks it’s good.

#

“Roswell,” Kravitz says, hovering awkwardly outside their office.

Roswell, busy writing something, doesn’t look up. “Is this a question about work or something personal?”

“Personal.”

“You-personal?”

“Angus-personal.”

“Kravitz, sit down, you’re in here every other day anyways,” Roswell says, not quite admonishing. Kravitz does sit, closing Roswell’s office door behind him as he goes, and waits for Roswell to look up. “Angus-personal?”

“His birthday is in a couple of weeks,” Kravitz says.

Roswell nods wisely. “And you’ve still convinced yourself you don’t know anything about him?”

“I don’t!”

“He’s lived with you for a year and a half. What’s his favorite food?”

Kravitz wishes, from the bottom of his heart, that he weren’t drawing a blank on his nephew’s favorite food. “Chinese?”

“Holy shit.” Roswell sits back in their chair. “You actually don’t know.”

“Do you know?”

“He likes barbecue.”

Kravitz thinks about it. “He does, doesn’t he?”

Roswell shakes their head. “Okay, this just became a way bigger priority. What were you thinking?”

“Something to do with that book he always has.”

“Have you read it?”

“Once,” Kravitz says. He’d spent a day in the library reading it, trying to understand anything about what his nephew saw in it. It was a rather gritty crime novel, not something he’d necessarily let a nine-year-old read, but well written nonetheless. “But he doesn’t want a new copy.”

“Signed copy?”

“I’ve looked, there aren’t any.”

“Not even on the dark web?”

“I don’t think you know what the dark web is.”

Roswell shrugs. “It was worth asking. Were there book posters or anything?”

“Nothing at all. I’m on the verge of writing a letter and asking the author for something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Roswell says thoughtfully. “Get something personal, something just for Angus. Is there contact information for the author?”

“Just a pseudonym.” Kravitz pauses. “I mean, I’m assuming it’s a pseudonym. The name on the book jacket is Taako.”

“First or last?”

“Only.”

Roswell shakes their head. “Of course your nephew would pick the weirdest possible author to be a fan of. One name, one book, nothing ever since. Do you think you can track the guy down?”

“I can try.” Kravitz sighs. “Last year I bought him a book he already owned and a tie he never wears, so I’d like to get him something he actually wants. A letter from the author would be a good start.”

“Well, you have a couple weeks,” Roswell says kindly. “That’s plenty of time to figure something out.”

Kravitz sends them a dry look. “Including a backup plan?”

They shrug. “Your words, not mine.”

“Your support means worlds,” Kravitz says flatly. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’ll try and get him a birthday present, see if I can outdo you.”

“You’re the one who knew his favorite food, I think you win.”

Roswell hums. “You have a nice idea, Kravitz. I hope something comes out of it.”

“I do too,” Kravitz says. He hopes this Taako, whoever he is, isn’t hard to track down.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr and Twitter @waveridden!


End file.
